


Something to be Proud Of

by rw_eaden



Series: Tumblr Askbox and Mini-Fics [9]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bisexual Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester Being Uncertain About Their Sexuality, Gen, Internalized Biphobia, Internalized Homophobia, Pride Parades
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-05
Updated: 2018-12-05
Packaged: 2019-09-07 01:25:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16844353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rw_eaden/pseuds/rw_eaden
Summary: The Pride Parade's Dean's been to over the yeas.





	Something to be Proud Of

**Author's Note:**

> I'm in the process of archiving my tumblr fics. This is one of them and as such is not edited.

Dean’s seventeen the first time he sees a Pride Parade. They’re in Washington on a werewolf hunt when John takes them out of the stuffy hotel room for lunch. It’s overcast, which Dean hates, but it’s cool and a nice change from Arizona, where they spent the past two weeks. They walk because the Impala’s still smeared with blood and they’re all too beat to clean it but not too beat to risk getting questioned by the cops. They’re about a block away from the bus stop when they spot it, the colors and commotion marching down the street. Dean can’t help but gawk as they come closer to the spectacle. A large black man waves a rainbow flag high above his head like a beacon. Three shirtless men in glittery tutus follow, arms linked and smiling. There’s a drag queen; the train of her turquoise dress trailing behind her like peacock feathers. Various men and women in various costumes make up the rest of the crowd, some with rainbow face paint, some in crowns and tiaras, some with banners, and even some in ridiculous costumes like cowboys and flamingos.

“What are they doing?” Sam asks, his eyes bulging out of his head as he stares.

“Its pride parade,” John answers.

“What’s that?” Sam asks.

“It’s like - it’s,” John falters for a second, rubbing his hand across his chin, “they’re gay, and they’re out here marching because they’re not ashamed of it. They’re trying to show that they’re normal, that there’s nothing wrong with it.”

“But why have a parade if it’s normal? Why make it a big deal if it’s not?” Sam asks again.

‘Well Sammy, there are some people who think it is a big deal. They think it’s wrong or unnatural or against God or something. I tell ya though, if they really knew about all the wrong, unnatural and unholy things in the world they wouldn’t think any of this was actually a big deal.” John says.

Sam seems satisfied with the answer, so he doesn’t say anything more. Dean however, is uncertain. A weariness creeps up in his stomach as he watches two men kiss, and he wonders, briefly what it would be like to feel another man’s stubble brush across his cheeks as they kiss. He shuts the thought out as quickly as it came. He’s straight. He likes women. He can’t be gay if he likes women. 

“Well, looks like we’re not gonna catch the bus today. Might as well keep on walking,” John says. The three men continue on their way.

***

Dean’s twenty-three, and it’s Palo Alto this time. He’s snuck a trip in to see Sam on his way from Salem, Oregon, to Tucson, but he got cold feet. Rather than actually pop in to see him, Dean creeps around in his car, waiting until Sam comes home from whatever summer classes he’s taking. When he gets back to his apartment, there’s a girl on his arm. She’s a tall blonde in jean shorts and a tank top, and she smiles at him like he hung the moon. Dean doesn’t dare interrupt. Instead, parts the car out of the way, behind a gas station and takes a walk to clear his head. It’s his first summer on his own; without Sam or his dad by his side. He’s caught up in his own head until he notices the crowd. People are standing, leaning over the guard rail at the sidewalk, smiling and waving at the colorful parade that passes down the street.

Dean stops and watches, and it might make him feel a little better. How many of these people alone because of something they can’t change, how many of them have been abandoned for no good reason, and still they can find joy in something. Not that Dean’s been abandoned, but especially on days like today, it feels like it.

A young woman carrying a bouquet of daisies breaks from the march when she meets his eyes. She’s short, plump, and wears a dainty smile. She walks up to the rail, “It gets better,” she says, offering him a single flower.

Dean blushes, his heart skipping a beat as he takes the flower from her hand. “Thanks,” he says, barely above a whisper.

Is he that obvious? Is there a sign flashing above his head that says _I slept with a man last week and I kinda liked it_? No. He shakes the thought out of his head. No one would think that. No one would know. He’s just upset because he’s alone. That’s what she was picking up on. She’s just trying to cheer him up because he looks like a sad son of a bitch. That’s it.

****

Dean’s thirty-four. Charlie’s sitting still on the bed in front of him as he traces a butterfly stencil on her cheek.

“You could come too, you know,” she says when he removes the plastic cut out from her face.

“Yeah, well,” he says, digging through her make-up bag for the red wax make-up pencil, “I’m not really good with crowds.”

Charlies hums, pursing her lips, “That’s your only problem with it?”

“Oh, come on Charlie, I’m not an asshole. Do you really think I’d be hanging out with you right now if I had something against gay people?” Dean snipes.

“No, no, it’s not that at all. I was just…” she pauses, and wiggles on the bed, bobbing her head from side to side, “you could have a lot of fun if you, you know, didn’t have so many hang-ups about it.”

“Hang ups? About what?”

Charlie rolls her eyes, “I know you’re worried about what people will think if they see you. But you know that no one’s gonna care right? You’re just another face in the crowd.”

“It’s not that. It’s the crowds,” Dean says, putting the wax pencil to Charlie’s cheek, laying a line of red inside the butterfly’s outline.

“You’re full of shit.”

“Yeah, well, what else is new?” Dean doesn’t mean the words that come out of his mouth, they just do. His stomach flips, and he winces. He doesn’t talk about these things. He doesn’t admit that he’s been with more than a few guys, or the fact that he likes it. He does talk about what that means for his sexuality. It’s not like it matters anyway. The world’s constantly about to end, there are more important things to worry about than who puts what where. This isn’t a big deal. But then again, if it’s no big deal, why doesn’t he talk about it?

Charlies pauses, setting her hand on his as he digs the orange pencil out of her bag. “Dean, you know you can talk to me about anything, right?” Her eyes are soft, and she offers a tentative smile.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” he says and Charlie frowns. Her mouth falls open like she’s about to speak when Dean cuts her off, “not now at least.”

He meets her eyes and she nods, patting his hand. “Whenever you want to,” she says.

Dean smiles and ducks his head to hide the blush that is undoubtedly flaring across his face. “Now quit talking or we’re never gonna get this done.”

*****

Dean’s thirty-seven, and he may have planned this. He piled Sam, Cas, and Charlie into the Impala for a trip to Wichita on the pretense of deep dish pizza at a parlor that just opened. He parks the Impala too far from any dining establishment.

“There’s not a pizza place around here,” Sam says, glancing around the parking lot as Dean opens the driver’s side door.

“No, but I thought we’d walk. A little exercise never hurt,” Dean says.

“Who are you and what have you done to my brother?” Sam asks, a little too serious to be completely joking.

Dean rolls his eyes and the passengers exit the car, following behind as he leads the way. It doesn’t take long for everyone to catch on, as the sidewalks begin to grow cluttered with people all craning their necks to see the parade coming down the street.

“We haven’t been to a Pride Parade since I was thirteen,” Sam says, slotting himself next to his brother, who is leaning against a brick building, arms crossed.

Dean smiles, “Well, not together at least.”

Sam’s eyebrows shoot up. His nostrils flare as he snorts and smiles. Dean shrugs and Charlie gapes at him, punching him in the shoulder.

“Dude, you went without me? Asshat,” she says.

“Hey,” Dean gripes, rubbing his shoulder. As he does, the fabric of his sleeve rides up, revealing a pink, purple, and blue parachute cord bracelet on his right wrist.

“I like it,” Cas says, pointing to Dean’s wrist.

Sam and Charlie’s eyes follow where Cas is pointing, then trail up to Dean’s face. They both smile.

“Thanks, I do too,” he says.

Charlie throws her arm around his side, pulling him into a tight embrace. Sam mutters something that sounds like “About damn time.”

Dean shakes his head and smiles. They don’t get pizza until after the parade has passed.


End file.
